by N. J. Lysk
“I... He’s... I didn’t think I could have this,” he told his friend, swallowing thickly.
“You can,” Thomas said gently. “You can also have a fantastic dinner cooked by my alpha.”
“What?”
“I know I said lunch,” Thomas said, conciliatory. “But Uri said cooking dinner was easier, so...”
“Thomas,” Carry said slowly. “You did not say lunch, you and I haven’t spoken about eating together at all.”
“Oh, Keenan didn’t tell you?”
“No, should he have?”
“Well, the invitation was for the both of you, so yes, he should have. Maybe he figured I didn’t mean now because he probably wants to spend all his time... cuddling you,” this was said in a distinctively leering voice. “But you gotta eat, right? And I want you guys to meet, it’s hard for Uri to believe how crazy you both are.”
“Well, that’s certainly an incentive,” Carry said flatly.
“No, weren’t you listening? Homemade dinner is the incentive!”
“There’s no need for him to go to all that trouble, it’s easy enough to book a private room in a rest—”
“Egocentric much?” Thomas asked, laughing. “Uri loves to cook, and you’ll be jealous of me once you try his food.”
“Oh,” Carry said, thankful Thomas couldn’t see his burning face. “Keenan can cook,” was his weak response. “He made me breakfast.”
It’d been months ago and Carry had been too uncomfortable with the implications to enjoy it, but he was pretty sure he’d remember if it had been bad.
“Did he now?” Thomas’s tone was once again too close to teasing for Carry’s taste. “The morning after?”
Keenan had, in fact, offered. They’d been at his place and it’d made sense, but Carry had dragged him back to bed and they’d made do with tea and toast once their stomachs had forced them to seek food.
“I’ll come to dinner,” he told Thomas. “But maybe you should remember I had to carry you to your bed a few weeks ago.”
“Like I didn’t?” Thomas shot back, good-naturedly but sharp nonetheless.
“Yeah, difference is, Keenan already knows I’m a mess.”
Thomas snorted. “Guess he does, and he wants you anyway. Odd taste, that boy, must be that sweet tooth of his.”
“Talk to you later,” Carry told him fondly. Thomas was perfectly able to keep chattering for hours if you were willing to listen.
EVEN TELLING SANDRA seemed like it might be too much to ask. He had spent so long, so many years assuming anything like this relationship was impossible that now he could barely let himself imagine it could exist at all.
Talking about it seemed the equivalent of waking up and retelling a dream—sure to make it all seem absurd enough that it could, in fact, only be a product of wishful thinking.
“Carry?” Sandra asked. Her eyebrows were raised, suddenly Carry remembered when she’d taught him that would be the signal for Carry to rethink what he’d just said.
“What?” It wasn’t what she meant now, of course, and he’d long ago progressed past the point where he needed each expression labelled.
“You were in another planet,” his sister said, amused. “What’s going on with you?”
“Um, sorry, I...” He sighed. “I’m sorry, please tell me more about your horse whisperer.”
“Mmm... You sure?”
“Yes, Sandy, I’m sure,” he replied, patiently accepting her teasing. “What’s their name?”
“Sin,” Sandra said with a grin.
“What? Seriously?” He laughed. His parents would love that.
She shrugged. “It’s a nickname, obviously. But they don’t like their name, too gendered.”
“Oh, so...” He stopped, unsure how to phrase it.
Sandra didn’t make him work for it, though, just going ahead and explaining, “They are not one of those people who just do pronouns out of principle; they really don’t like the divisions between genders and orientations. They were really happy when I told them about the... new project.”
Carry rolled his eyes at her. He appreciated her discretion, of course, but she kept overdoing it and acting like they were part of a secret operation. “Glad Sin approves. So what do they do with the horses exactly...?”
“Mostly everyday care,” Sandra said. “But a little light training too. Didn’t ask, but don’t think Sin wants to do anything fancy like riding professionally or even training horses for it. Probably too strenuous on their knees or something,” she added with a small smile.
“You going to give up Dame Diamond?” Carry asked, careful to keep his voice neutral.
She shook her head. “No way, Dame’s a thoroughbred, she wouldn’t be happy in some pasture. She needs the pressure of racing.”
“Guess we can’t ask her,” Carry offered.
“What? Do you want me to retire Dame?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “No, no. I... I wouldn’t be able to cope without hockey, or with just an amateur team or whatever.”
“So you’re just objecting to biological determinism in general now?” his sister asked, clearly sceptical.
Carry took a deep drink of his coffee, then made himself meet her eyes. “I have...” he trailed off, looking away again. “You remember what you told me in the train?”
“When we went home?”
He nodded. “About... dating.”
“I remember,” she said easily. She didn’t say more, not even when he couldn’t make himself speak.
“I am,” he finally managed.
“Oh.” Her face split into a smile and she covered it up with a delicate gesture of her carefully manicured hand. “That’s wonderful, Carry.”
He nodded, swallowing, heart beating hard enough he was breathing a little too fast.
“Carry?” she asked in a whisper. “You... are you happy? With...?”
“What?” he asked, looking up at her in surprise. “Yes, I mean... Of course! That’s why!”
His sister stared at him, clearly completely at a loss and he inhaled and made an effort to calm down.
“I... I don’t know how it can last,” he admitted, swallowing hard. He had been doing his best not to think about it, not to let himself dwell, but...
“Tell me who it is,” Sandra said and Carry noticed her tossing her hair and glancing around.
Carry wasn’t brave enough for anything like that, but he took her hand off the table and positioned her fingers to form the letter K.
Sandra stiffened. “Oh. That’s... You talked about all the stuff you told me? About not wanting to bond?”
He nodded, shaky, holding onto her hand like his body still he remember she was the anchor that kept him from getting lost in the world.
“And he’s okay with it?”
“He... understands,” he said slowly. Not because he didn’t believe it, because it just... It just seemed like too precious a gift. Not from Keenan, from the world, which had punished him so often for wanting something like this—to be an omega without giving up every other part of who he was.
Sandra’s hand tightened on his. “That’s great,” she said with feeling. “But I still want to meet him.”
Carry glanced up, almost smiling as he caught on with the script. “Will you threaten him like in the dramas?”
She laughed, low and sweet, and happy. For him.
“Maybe,” she allowed. “Maybe I’ll just quiz him.”
“On what?”
“Dunno, Spinning actors.”
“Um, I don’t think I have told him to watch it,” he admitted.
“What?!” she asked in fake indignation. At least he was pretty sure it was fake by the way she was widening her eyes. “You can’t tell me you have a serious relationship with anyone in your life and you haven’t talked their ear off about Spinning!”
It did sound odd when put like that. He’d told Thomas. Goddess, he’d told Santiago one day when they’d ended up walking home together.
“It just... We have a lot of stuff to talk about,” he told Sandra, then raised his eyes to her face so she could see his smile was genuine. “But I’ll tell him to study for your quiz.”
She nodded, eyes on him. “And you’ll be careful?”
“I will,” Carry promised her.
HE’D ASKED KEENAN TO come to his own flat because he was nervous. It was ridiculous, of course, it wasn’t like Keenan would be judging Carry. But in many ways, he was what he loved.
That was why being an omega had never made sense to him—he’d neither chosen it nor enjoyed it, so how could it mean more than the things he’d decided to devote his time and energy to? Nowhere in his id card did it say he played hockey or that he spoke four languages and read six.
Much less did it have room for this supposedly more temporary fascination he had with a television show. Something that felt... his. Or not exactly, something that felt like it was made by someone who would understand who he was inside, deeper than skin and even deeper than thought, where he could not hide either fear nor desire.
It made no difference to him that he had never met them and probably never would—he knew them as if he’d seen their very soul.
Keenan’s shields were closed when he opened the door, but his own weren’t, so his surprise must have been obvious. He’d been distracted thinking about where he’d put the takeaway menus and forgot that it was Keenan at the door. Or maybe forgot wasn’t the right word, he’d been thinking about how this might go for hours, but it was hard for his imagination to capture the intensity of seeing Keenan again, even without getting a faceful of his scent.
“Hey,” Keenan said, stepping in once he reacted and allowed him to. His guest closed the door behind himself and shut his eyes to open up his mind. Carry watched him curiously; Keenan had come a long way in terms of his ability to regulate his psychic signature and he normally didn’t need to do anything that obvious any more. Was he nervous too?
“Hey, I’ve set up in the living room.” He’d turned before his brain had fully processed the fishy smell wafting from Keenan—very likely nerves. He stopped as soon they crossed the doorway, seeking Keenan’s face. “You okay?”
“Ah, yes, just— I’m sorry I didn’t... I wish I could have planned something too. For you.”
Carry blinked at him. “If you think this is going to be romantic...” He swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words. “It’s not— It’s just a show, Keenan. An awesome show,” he clarified in the name of precision. “But it’s not a candle-lit dinner or anything. I haven’t even ordered the takeaway,” he added. “I don’t really know what you like.”
He was all too aware Keenan could probably order for him by now, and Carry...
Keenan’s scent rose, briny and with a hint of ketchup that made something in Carry’s brain pop. His brain was completely insane, clearly. But his arms didn’t care as Keenan stepped into him and pressed close to him. He was warm and solid and... and Carry’s.
Just for now.
For as long as he chose to stay. He stayed for a few minutes, enough for Carry’s muscles to unwind and for him to start resting some of his weight on Keenan.
Keenan straightened and said, not letting go, “I’m kinda intrigued about this show of yours.”
“Because of the hockey?”
“Yes, and because you like it so much.”
Carry exhaled against his shirt, skin too tight all of a sudden. He made himself stay for a beat, then two, then it became easier again, even though the words were still on his mind, the feeling still in him. He stepped back, taking Keenan’s hand to lead him to the sofa where he’d set up the snacks to keep them well-supplied while they waited for the food delivery.
“Wow,” Keenan said. “Did you just buy everything we’re not supposed to eat?”
“I didn’t know what you liked,” Carry said again. He knew Keenan had paid attention to what drinks and foods Carry favoured; getting a lot of options was the least he could do to make up for his lack of knowledge. And if they ate too much, they could just book a couple of hours at the rink, something he couldn’t imagine Keenan would object to. “And you can just take what’s left to the kids when you train them.”
Keenan let himself flop down into the sofa, grinning up at him. “And teach them to eat crap?”
Carry waved it away. “They’re teenagers, they burn calories fast. Anyway, wait here, I just remembered where I put the takeaway menus.”
They had Chinese, because there was a lot of variety and Keenan could get something not too spicy. Carry made a note of that preference, repeating it in his mind the same way he repeated people’s names when he met them—a technique his socialite mother had taught him out of desperation when he’d been a child.
And then Carry got to watch him. They’d put the show on in the original Danish, which neither of them understood—even if Carry had picked up a few words from re-watching so often. It meant that if he looked away from the subtitles, he’d miss what was being said, not to mention the beauty of Gyaan’s figure skating. But Keenan’s face was a show on its own right; fascinated and focused like it only got when he was playing or talking about it.
Carry turned his attention back to the screen, knowing what was coming, just in time for Keenan to flinch next to him. Gyaan landed a gorgeous triple axel that normally made Carry sigh and Keenan relaxed again. But Carry was too intrigued to let it go, he reached for the remote and paused it. “What...?”
Keenan actually blinked, looking as dazed as if he had truly been in another world. Carry wanted to kiss him, and when Keenan didn’t speak, he did, just leaning in and pecking him on the lips.
“What was that for?” his centre asked, gaze dropping to Carry’s mouth in a way that made him want to squirm.
He shrugged, looking at the television so he wouldn’t need to meet Keenan’s eyes. “Why did you jump?”
“Oh, I thought he’d fall,” Keenan explained, half turning to the screen again himself. “Figure skating is beautiful, obviously, but I don’t... Well, jumps look terrifying.”
“Really?” Carry asked. “Are you...? I mean, you’re not afraid of pain, I’ve seen you.”
“No, not pain.” Keenan shook his head, dismissing the notion like it was absurd instead of a very common human instinct. “Falling. Just... I don’t know, it’s not like I have fallen from very high, other than bunk beds, that’s it, but that feeling when the ground isn’t where you thought...” He shuddered and Carry leaned in close and put a hand on his knee.
“I’ll tell you if he’s gonna fall if you want.”
“I...” Keenan turned to look at him despite how it made him squint. “Yeah, just that.”
Carry pressed play. “He doesn’t actually fall at all in this episode, just stumble the once. I think they’re establishing how talented he is, peak form and all, and maybe a little bored because he’s not being challenged enough by his trainers.”
“Shhh,” Keenan told him, and Carry hid a smile into his shoulder because it was exactly what he’d have done if he hadn’t already memorized half the lines.
THE LIGHTS FLASHED to announce the food had arrived and Carry tried to get up without pausing the show, but Keenan had the remote in hand and had done it for him before he could even make it to the doorway.
For a moment, their eyes caught—Carry’s surprised, Keenan’s intense. Then Carry shrugged and went to pay the delivery person.
He was surprised to discover it was an omega, shields almost completely closed like she knew very well what she was doing, and she gave him a cheeky smile that said she’d noticed. He added a big tip on top of the bill just for that and she raised her eyebrows as if to ask, Really? But didn’t comment.
[Have a good night] Carry told her and got cold tea and glasses from the kitchen on his way back to Kee
nan.
“Spinning is a metaphor,” Keenan said as soon as he saw him. “Gyaan’s lost control of his life, hasn’t he? He’s spinning out of control, even though he’s obviously really good at skating, he can’t control his life.”
Carry stared at him. “Yes,” he said, then added, “You got all that from half an episode?”
“It’s a good show.” Keenan shrugged, standing to take one of the bags off his hands, then realising there were too many things on the table already and setting it down on a corner to start tidying up. “And... it’s a bit like me, so it’s cheating.”
“A bit like you?” Carry asked. He’d always seen himself in Gyaan, even if it’d taken way longer than half an hour to realise exactly why. “How?”
“Because I was... well, not spinning, more like sliding along, I guess, and then you came and I crashed and I realised...” He looked down at his arms, bulging with crisps, chocolates and dried fruit. “Should I put this in the kitchen?”
“What did you realise?” Carry insisted. He was not going to miss this for something as banal as telling Keenan where he stored snacks. He could throw them out the window as far as Carry was concerned.
Keenan glanced down again, then stopped to think. “I realised I didn’t... I wasn’t seeing the whole picture. I was living in the world, but I wasn’t part of it, I wasn’t... I wasn’t doing anything to make it better.”
“Is that what this is about? Making the world better?” Even as he asked, he realised he wasn’t sure if he meant their relationship or Keenan’s newfound activist streak.
“No...” Keenan started to say, then shook his head and asked, “Get the food out of the bag so I can put these inside.”
As he waited for Carry to do it, he went on, “I didn’t think about it like that, making it better. I just wanted to fix what was wrong, to... to help people who needed help. No, not help, my help.”
He sought Carry’s eyes, as if hoping to see the answer there, but even with the bond thrumming between them, he couldn’t see what even Carry didn’t know. For lack of anything better to do, Carry emptied the bags and held one open for Keenan to deposit his load into.
